And the Walls Crumble
by morpherkidvb
Summary: The REAL Chapter 7 up- new stuff and actual happenings. As the barriers between the universes begin to collapse, the Knife's intentions become clearer when it starts to look for a new bearer.
1. Charactors

And the Walls Crumble 

By Morpherkidvb 

Prologue 

Shadows… falling over the bedroom where the subtle knife lay broken in pieces inside a small worn paper bag. Falling over the finger marks where the boy and the man had fondled the paper, wearing it down to the pulp. Shadows falling over Will, as he opened the closet door, letting sunlight in to battle with the darkness. 

The light emphasized the bag as Will knelt by it, reminiscing of the year in which he had used its contents. It was now quarter to twelve, he noticed, so he gently shut the closet door behind him and left the flat. He strolled down the street, Kirjava at his heels and, using the trick of slinking into shadows (he used this more often now, Kirjava noted,) walked unnoticed down the sidewalk to the Botanic Gardens of Oxford.

************************************************

Across the ever-crumbling barrier between worlds, Lyra sat, Pan curled up beside her, fiddling with the alethiometer. She had regained the workings of the simpler symbols perfectly, recalling the memories that sparked the interpretation of this sign or that one. Her ecstatic joy when figuring out what the Mother symbol meant, or the Bee, kept the translations flowing in her mind. But the harder or more vague characters came as a struggle, and called for countless hours of studying and demonstration. She had absolutely no patience for this, and when asked to do so in her classes, she skimmed through the text book pages looking for an illustration or word that would spark such a latter described reminiscence.

As a result, she had a half education, much like the one she had gotten as a child in Oxford. She could get a handful of meanings and was able to get the correct mind set- something others had trouble with- but when translating the pictures into real phrases and meaningful answers to questions, what used to pop into her head as now a struggle. 

She liked the struggle, however. It was a bit like the Latin Scholar had described changing something from Latin into English- there was always more than one way to achieve the same result. 

A wind blew her golden hair, and for a moment, she wondered if Will was feeling the same wind millions of miles but no distance away in his world…

And, with a sudden impulse, she reached out to touch a rosemary bush that was next to the bench…

As Will did the same across the bridge to the stars…

And for a moment, each of the two people and their daemons could feel the other inside themselves, and during that fleeting second, the walls between worlds collapsed. 

*****************************************************

Inside Will's closet, the tip of the broken knife began to glow an icy blue, and, as the worlds collided, levitated for that moment before falling back with its brothers with a clatter. 

********************************************************

Sergeant Kenil's spurs dug again and again into the man's chest as the tortured person screamed in pain. 

"There," spat the Gallivespian "That's what happens to those of your kind who call me a little one! I am Kenil!" 

Seeing the fear in the man's eyes, the fear of death that haunted the man's species, the Sergeant explained, " Oh, no, I won't kill you. Go home to your people and tell them what you will. In fact, tell them everything! " He laughed, a wild, high pitched screech that seemed to spilt the rock the little man was standing on. 

"Tell them to never again underestimate a Gallivespian! "

And Kenil whistled and his lightning striped dragonfly zoomed to his side, and in less than a minute, the rouge Gallivespian had disappeared. 


	2. Johnson

Chapter 2

"Aunt M's coming tomorrow! " his mother had called in the sing song voice she used with his younger brother Edmond. Johnson remembered his feeling of disgust. That tone was for babies, and he, a boy of nine years, was grown up. So he, in his frustration, had climbed the stairs up to his bedroom and gazed out the window. What would this unknown Aunt be like? Apparently she was his mother's sister, as any relative of his father's wouldn't have come. 

But maybe she was a queen of a far-away land and she would take him away to live with her and have adventures and he would save her life and…

He had always tended to daydream, especially in his youth, about leaving home and having fun. His familiar home in suburban America had seemed dismal and boring to him.

But a new Aunt! 

That was something!

Johnson had taken out a notebook and drawn his vision of Aunt M. 'M for mysterious ' he had thought. When the sketch was done he had held it at arms length to admire it. Aunt M… four years ago he had been ecstatic about her. But now…

After dinner he had climbed to the top bunk of his bed and looked at the ceiling. The stars he had painted there when his mother was on her business trip to London. They had comforted him, giving him that warm feeling of belonging. 

Then he had turned to his side, just as he did every night. He held on to the edge of the rail of wood on the side barrier. His father had made the bed, done everything himself, would have moved it into the guestroom that was going to be Johnson's room, except for the condition.

Maybe, just maybe, his dad would come back, and would meet Aunt M, and they would get married, and win custody, and take him everywhere they went, and they would go to Asia, and Africa, and South America and…

When he woke the next morning he sat up in bed so fast his head hit the ceiling. Aunt M. would arrive today! He was dressed in less than a minute, ran downstairs, wolfed down his bowl of Lucky Charms, and ran onto the front steps. He looked at his watch. 7:03. Two more hours! 

He sat on the patio, daydreaming and acting out heroic scenes of himself saving his aunt's life, and she saving his, and…

The golden Royles Royce sped into view, puffing exhaust out into the blue sky. Zipping around the corners, pushing speed limits, hitting speed bumps. It was like she had never driven a modern car before.

The car slowed, counting the house numbers- 709, 711, 713…

Johnson could hardly keep from jumping up and down. 'Here, I'm here!' he thought. Finally she pulled up the sloping driveway onto 720 Warwick Drive and parked.

The figure who slid gracefully out of the car was sleek, beautiful, and as Johnson had earlier predicted, mysterious. She seemed to be untouchable, with a grace that seemed to push all other things aside. A golden light seemed to radiate from her, a color unmatched by anything but that of her pet monkey that sat on her shoulder. 

His mother opened the door, walked to the woman and embraced her. 

"Hello Marissa. " she said smoothly.

A. N- you'll see. This was purposefully a confusing chapter.


	3. Serafina

Chapter 3

A.N- Thanks to those who reviewed and also the two of you who corrected my spelling (Marisa Also, I'm sorry about adding so many elements in at once, I know it's confusing, but just stick with it and it'll pull through, ok?). Anyway, please review this abnormally short chapter.

Serafina Pekkala was hearing a rumbling, a subtle, low-key murmur. It unsettled her, unsettled her in the same way that the look in Will's eyes had unsettled her, an instinctual caution even without direct contact. But many things disturbed her now, especially the fall of the church…

After the collapse of the Authority, many religious leaders had become lost, unaware of what to do in this situation. The Magestrum had lost much of its power, leaving the government now without a good chuck of it's ruling body. A few radicals had left the church in disarray and formed their own groups of faith, finding new beings to worship and new beings to hate, but they were minor issues, not to be bothered with. 

And even though Serafina Pekkala was a witch and tried to separate herself from human affairs, everything connecting her to Lyra connected her to what happened because of Lyra, and so, defying even her followers, she had become more and more human-like.

She read the human newspaper now, which fascinated her. How they obsess about everything! Witches were mild, interested in what concerned her and little else. Being detached in a way from her own culture and not fully in another, she was able to observe from a distance, and make observations about people that amazed her. 

And with this new insight, she alone was interested in the news brought by Tony Costa of the Gyptans. While they were stopping at a new northern port, she had flown down to a boat and while dealing cards asked for a report. And it seemed to the people that she was talking with that a magician by the name of Dr. Dee was experimenting with a powerful force to do…what? But she never found out, as after the card game a dreadful storm swept by and she was forced to leave. 

But Serafina had sent Kaisa to investigate this Dee man, who from what she could gather from a band of Tartars camped 40 miles south, lived in Mortlake, far away from the reaches of the witch clans. 

The rumble… maybe it was internal rather than external. Maybe it was fear. 


	4. Will and Mary

The real Chapter Four

Mary Malone heard the young man enter the house, and as soon as he the door closed, she felt his puzzlement. This in turn, puzzled her, for usually, in fact every time for the last three year, he had come in on midsummer's night sulky and worn. He had never cried, no, he never cried, but the deep sadness, the inner sadness, came to the surface on midsummer. 

But today was different.

From the living room she heard him walk into the kitchen, start to make himself toast, stop, walk in circles. He muttered thing under his breath, and for a moment Marty thought he had been threatening to do, or Lyra had not shown up and he had waited for hours, and still could not feel her presence. 

But no, that wasn't it either. 

The former physicist took out the I Ching from a desk drawer and smiled. This would calm her nerves. 

As she sunk into the trance she felt a tugging at the back of her mind. "_Remember this_… " It said. "_Remember_…" But she couldn't remember, and her frustration broke the abstraction. 

Trying again… "_Something about angels…find the memory_…" 

There it was! But the mystical cloud that seemed to wash over her was swept into air. 

"_Way back…think…the machine…dust…angels…" _

Dust and Angels? 

So much for the I Ching calming her nerves. 

But a cup of tea might. 

Will was still in the kitchen, and, from what Mary could gather, still puzzled. 

"What's wrong?" She asked him, but she was really just thinking out loud. Her own disturbance weighed most heavily on her mind. 

"Nothing." And she knew he was lying, and he knew that she knew, and so she waited, and he submitted. 

"When you were a physicist, " he asked after a few moments, " did you or your colleges have any multi-terricular (Multi = many/much, terra = earth) theories? "

"No, well, I believe there was one, why?" 

"What was his name?" 

This was obviously a question to avoid asking the true question, so she waited, and again he told her…

But before he could start, she, against her better judgement, jumped in,

"Will, if this is about inter-world travel, sorry. And I hate to say this, but deal with it, Ok? "

Maybe it was her own spite that made her say these words, maybe she was simply stressed, but she regretted them as soon as she said them.

And even more so when she met Will's gaze. 

Will stared at her, as if somehow it would erase what had been said. But his bubble had been broken. All the sadness that he had hidden over the years came together to give the boy the look that he had now, a kind of look that expressed sorrow, but was even beyond that to the point of true regret, as if he was looking back at his life and regretting the things he had done. 

But in a moment it faded, and was taken over by an expression of annoyance that didn't quite fit the situation. In a terse voice he snapped," Well, if you don't want to know…" 

"Oh, Will, I'm sorry, just… forget what I said, Ok? " 

But Will couldn't forget, even though the patch had been sewn on to his imaginary bubble. So even as he told the story of the world's curtain dropping, her words rang in his ears, 

__

"…Get over it, ok?" 

And even as Mary listened to Will tell the story of the world's curtain dropping, she kept thinking about how exactly wrong her words had been as they echoed through her memory.

__

"…Get over it, Ok?"
    
    And as Will listened to her tell the story of the I Ching, he still thought,

"How could she jump to conclusions like that? I can't believe…"

And as Mary told the story of the I Ching, she still thought,

" How could I jump to conclusions like that? I can't believe? "

In Will's closet, the upper right shard of the knife glowed blue, levitated, and fell, just as the tip had done. 

(Authors Note- Thank you Ax and Ceres Wunderkind for your reviews. And the rest of you, of course!) 


	5. Iorek

Chapter 5 

DO NOT KILL ME UNTIL YOU READ THE AUTHOR'S NOTE AT THE BOTTOM. REPEAT AFTER ME- I WILL NOT FLAME MORPHERKIDVB, I WILL NOT FLAME MORPHERKIDVB…

Iorek Byrnison was suffering. 

The heat beat down upon his overly covered skin, frying his brain cells and him into a state of mental disorder. 

It was 70° Fahrenheit. 

But the bear was made for cold, biting, frosting cold with ice and snow and sky, nothing more, nothing less, cold that penetrated the flesh of humans as the heat was now doing to him. The cold was the bears' lifeblood. They sought no warmer weather or bluer skies. Their habitat was not only the place where they lived; it was the place where they _lived, _where they felt utterly at home and content. Panserborjne were not only cold weather animals, they were a living extension of the north itself. They were prepared for the ice and snow, and greeted it like an old friend. 

But no ice bear could be prepared for this. 

It was not a new thing for humans, but the ice melting in the North, even in the upper reaches of the mountains, was something that was a vague phenomenon for men. But they, unlike the bears, were able to go about their daily life, doing their usual strange deeds and hypocritical actions, unknowing or uncaring, Iorek could never tell which.

The bears were not able to continue a thing, and as the _Rashihan_ (Panserborjne for polar ice caps) melted, so did traditional was, slipping away as the lords of Svarsbard were forced to flee from their home, seeking someplace, any place, that would support them and their culture. 

Originally they had moved north, trying to find a suitable place to start the rebirth of their fading civilization. But when none was to be found, Iorek himself, without allies or hope, went south in a desperate search for a Kingdom come. 

To no avail. 

Bravely he had marched into the fire, and bravely he would burn, if need be. For he was a fierce protector of his people, with a loyalty unmatched but of his to Lyra Silvertongue, the strange human. 

But as he still stood by Lyra, his people scorned her and humans in general. They, the bears said, were the cause of this new heat, and their meddling with worlds had made it worse. People should stay in their own place, they said, and it was these who had most resisted the hopeless fight for survival. 

__

Why leave our homelands? They had boomed, and the sound shot through Iorek's ears like fire_. We are Panserborjne, Lords of Svarsbard! We will die bravely as in battle rather than leave as cowards!_

So that was the real reason he had left, Iorek admitted to himself. For in a desperate fury to save his honor, he had sacrificed himself for his kingdom, trying to regain power. 

And the bear wept now, for he had been corrupted as the hearts of men had, and had defied his nation, his people, himself. 

And now he was lost. He searched for death, but at the same time fought it with a stubborn passion_. He was alone, no way back, but I must go on, they were right, die in honor, was this honor?_

He was beginning to lose himself.

His fevered mind rested, yet his stubborn atoms refused to spread, and his spirit defied his body, for he was a Panserborjne, and he was determined to find a way. 

A.N- this chapter was to show the effects of the inter-world travel and to capture Iorek's spirit. It was not to torture any character in any way. No actual fictional characters were harmed in the writing of this chapter. 

Is Iorek dead? Well, you'll just have to find out!

By the way, the 4th chapter is revised and has actual material now. It doesn't matter if you read this first, but you have to read it to understand the scheme of things. As with every chapter while I'm introducing setting and plot. 


	6. Johnson on a voyage

   
  
 Chapter 6  
  
Johnson  
  
A.N.- There's a lot to say about this chapter, and I want to put in some mystery, so I'll try to explain a few things without eliminating plot. First, I know I've made it way too easy for Johnson to get to London alone, for even pre-9/11 airline security, etc. was better than that! And that's assuming he already had a valid passport… Ax will know what I mean when I say I've pulled an Ellimistic maneuver. I needed to get him there unsupervised, and this was the best way in my mind to do so. His journey will be made, erm, more difficult next chapter. Secondly, the similarities between Will and Johnson are there on purpose, they are not a mistake and I am not just borrowing from Pullman's character. My intentions will become clearer within the next two or three chapters. Happy reading, and thanks to adah, sparkelygem, Kirri, and Ceres Wunderkind for your help- many of your suggestions will be used in the next chapter more than this one, but the help is great. Ok, I'll shut up and you can read.  
  
   
  
Screeeetch!  
  
Johnson snapped out of a dream-like trance as the train lurched suddenly forward before rumbling to a stop.  
  
He was here already?  
  
The boy checked his ticket and yes, this was Paddington Station. Here his Plan would begin. The Plan was broken into four main parts, and each one had been chopped apart and put back together piece by piece, and at this moment, the execution of his scheme was his sole ambition. Johnson had worked out his itinerary like a military exercise, and so far it had functioned like one.  
  
Except for the one variable he had left out.  
  
***********************  
  
The Plan had actually started months before, with the idea starting as a jumble of facts and fantasies in his mind. Only with the money he drew in from his mother's newfound wealth (apparently a relative had left a large inheritance or something of the sort, Johnson didn't know exactly), his dreams began to materialize. His mother's lack of interest in his daily life had given him a large amount of freedom, sometimes even too much, but it was for this reason that Johnson had been able to make a Trans-Atlantic flight without too much difficulty.  
  
The first stage of his Plan had been to get his mother to drive him to the airport. This hadn't been that complicated, he simply had had to tell her he needed to do research for a class project of some sort. His mom was not negligent, however, simply busy and self-absorbed, and Johnson had had a hard time getting her to leave him alone for the two hours he needed to get out of the country. It had been hard to lie to her so deeply, for like her sister Marisa she had a way of charming people into total security and seduction. But he was practiced at it, and she had left him alone, as he knew she would, and his mother went off to her own affairs.  
  
But as it turned out, it wasn't the lying, or even getting the money for the airfare that had been difficult. It was torture for the 13-year-old boy to sit in an airplane with stewardesses breathing down his neck. The long, tedious flight had forced the child to reflect on what he had left behind, mainly his younger brother Edmond, and conquer his fears. Trying to look legal knowing that by now his mother's government friends would be staking out the airport for him gnawed his conscience to the bone.  
  
'Stay calm, ' he told himself. ' You're putting that behind you.' But this was hardly reassuring when he stopped to consider the similarities between his aunt and her sister.  
  
' It's over now. You can't turn back. '  
  
But that fact was one of the things that frightened him the most.  
  
***********************  
  
The stream of business-class people leaving the Heathrow train line reminded Johnson of the nature videos he had seen in science class, salmon crushed into a narrow river going uphill. The boy was short for his age, only four foot ten inches, and therefore was almost overtaken by all the men and women concerned only with getting wherever it was they were going. Somehow, despite this, he was able to get off the train with his small backpack and step into a very new surrounding.  
  
Paddington Station was not the heart of London, not the London that Johnson had read about and heard tales of. He quickly walked down to a bus stop and boarded a southeastern directed bus. His Aunt's house was to the north, but he wanted to see the world, as he had told himself years before, and had business to take care of anyway.  
  
The bus trip was particularly uneventful, unless you count Johnson's heart continually throbbing with anticipation and delight. But uneventful was not the word to describe the world the boy saw as he jumped off the bus. It was the feeling of uncontaminated chance at really living, the same feeling that the world of the mulefa had given Mary three years earlier, but Johnson the suburban kid saw the city as life, and Mary the city woman saw the untouched nature as such.  
  
It was as if someone had suddenly switched a television set onto full blast. The contrast between the simply decorated and boring surroundings of the train and the noisy, bustling city caught Johnson off guard.  
  
Sunlight streamed down from the clouds, and the boy had to shield his eyes to behold the sights around him. But it was worth it, for the setting in which Johnson had been thrown into became a part of him forever.  
  
There were people everywhere. 'They call America the melting pot?' thought Johnson. 'London deserves that title.' Tourists with I Love London tee shirts to locals eating in diners or feeding pigeons, all seemed to be a part of the scenery, as if the City wasn't whole without the congregation of human beings together. It seemed as if someone had wanted to take a sample of each race or culture and put them all down in one place.  
  
As he walked down the street away from the train station, or rather dodged traffic and pedestrians in an attempt to, he saw the delicate mixture of Victorian and Modern architecture in a variety of shops and buildings lining the streets. He saw eateries of every kind, from street-side cafes to extravagant restaurants. There were dress shops, computer shops, jewelry, makeup, anything that Johnson wanted he could have bought right here, without leaving the street.  
  
Johnson breathed in the spectacle, loving every bit of the exciting, thrilling city. It seemed so…real, and different, as opposed to the thin fantasy the boy had lived in at his typical suburban home. The city seemed to break the mold of routine that he had lived in for 13 years, giving the world a freshly exhilarating aura.  
  
It struck the boy as comic for a moment- a young boy running away to a big city with nothing but a few possessions to find a rich relative and live happily ever after. It sounded like something from a Disney movie or a Dickens novel- something that was too good to be true. Of course, though, this trip was a realization of childhood dreams, so in a way it was right out of fantasy.  
  
Johnson mentally shifted gears as he walked to the bus stop on the corner to wait for a northern-bound bus into the heart of town. Once there, he would exchange the rest of his money into pounds sterling catch another bus to the Bishop's Avenue.  
  
It was so easy in the boy's mind, so easy. A more skeptic child would be sure it would never work, but despite his recent manipulating scheme, he was trusting, and it was quite evident. It seemed to him that since he had escaped his mother's mental stronghold, the journey to Aunt M's was a walk in the park.  
  
The bus pulled up and Johnson boarded quickly. He was slightly off schedule, and he needed to get to Aunt Marisa's before it was too late.  
  
Because, as he had heard, the city became less inviting after dark.  
  
   
  
   
  
   
  
   
  
A.N Ok, so sue me for the formatting. The stupid computer won't let me learn how to fix it. (Although I am open to suggestions…) 


	7. Man and Daemon

AN- Well, what should I say? Nothing, really. But don't ask how he got to our world! Don't! It will annoy me and that's not good. (You'll get it when you read the chapter)  
  
  
  
Chapter Seven  
  
  
  
"Oh, sh*t!"  
  
Johnson was usually a fairly mild-spoken person, but this was one of those times when profanity is appropriate. He pulled out the bills. Dollars. Two hundred American dollars.  
  
He got off at the next stop. He was on the outskirts of the city, but not so far away that he had to go a long way for a bank. There was a little strip mall place two blocks away from the bus station, so he quickly walked down the street. He pushed the doors open, and, feeling extremely self- conscious, walked up to the teller's desk. He gave the pushy lady behind the desk his wad of cash, trying without success to avoid the woman's eyes. The teller gave him the 137 pounds sterling along with a stony glare.  
  
And of course, a thirteen-year-old in a crowded city with money quickly becomes a thirteen-year-old in a crowded city with no money, and Johnson was no exception. He stopped halfway back and got lunch of lemonade, a sandwich, and ice cream at a little café on the corner, not unlike the one that Will had eaten at before meeting Lyra. The sun reflected off his dark eyes as he watched the city whirl about him. 'I could live here,' he thought. 'I could live here forever and never get bored.' But his thoughts kept shifting back to his home and brother. Desmond would be fitful by now, his beloved brother lost, kidnapped, stolen.  
  
It would be easy, he thought, to write Desmond a letter, a letter no one could trace. He would put his aunt's return address, which he had now memorized and set to heart, and he would write sloppily so that no one would know it was he.  
  
He grabbed a pen and pad out of his satchel and began scribbling furiously, picking words out of the air.  
  
Dear Desmond,  
  
This is Johnson. Don't worry, I'm not being held for ransom or kidnapped or anything. I'm taking a trip to Aunt M's house- you remember her, don't you? But you can't tell mom, because it's a secret. A big secret. I'm fine, and I'll be writing to you for a while until mom gets suspicious. Make sure no one knows this is me- make up some story about how Aunt M send you a nice letter and how you and her will be sending stuff back and forth for a bit and get to know each other.  
  
How are you doing? Are you still friends with Joey from down the street? How are things back home? I wonder if you will ever get that science prize you've been working for- I hope you do.  
  
Remember, it's top secret. Please reply. Just write Aunt M on the address and send it here, I'll find it.  
  
Love,  
  
Johnson  
  
He read the letter over twice before shredding it and tossing it in the trash bin.  
  
When he walked back to the bus stop, he saw that another person was there, an old man with a huge dog at his heels. He stood watching them for a minute in fascination as the dog began stiffing the air and whining, a gesture of discomfort that made the animal seem. human.  
  
"Where are you going, young man?" the aged fellow asked with a smile.  
  
The man's eyes looked so convincing, so much like they wanted to help you with whatever troubles you might be having, that Johnson found himself answering "The Bishop's Avenue " before he remembered that he was illegal, that there were people out on the streets looking for him.  
  
A flicker of recognition passed over the man's entrancing eyes just as Johnson's head turned at the sound of the bus rumbling down the street. With Johnson looking the other way, the man mouthed a single word.  
  
"Marisa?"  
  
An idea formed in Thorold's mind as the boy clambered onto the bus. 


End file.
